Save Me
by Ardently Everlasting
Summary: Emmett is riding his motorcycle in LA when he sees Bay's street art.
1. Street Art

Story Name: Save Me

Summary: Emmett is riding his motorcycle in LA when he sees Bay's street art.

Chapter 1: Street Art

Emmett's POV

What can I say? California life suited me well. After living here for five years, I had no intent on moving back to Kansas. I loved the ocean, beautiful weather and the constant buzz and excitement. There was always something to do, which starkly contrasted with my life in the mid-west.

Roughly one year ago, I finished my bachelors of arts degree at USC. Now I was working on small independent films around the area attempting to expand my resume and catch my big break into the movie-making scene.

Since I was making some money directing small films, I recently purchased a new motorcycle. It felt wonderful to feel the wind rushing through my hair. I felt free. Riding by the pristine beaches surrounded by palm trees calmed me and confirmed that I was where I was supposed to be.

One day when I was riding back to my apartment from the production studio that was editing one of my independent films, something caught my eye. Curious, I turned around. Pulling up to an abandoned building, I saw walls filled with graffiti. In the middle of the spray paint chaos, someone had plastered an angry girl in a pink dress holding a massive axe. Without a second thought, I realized this work belonged to Bay, my ex girlfriend. This meant that Bay was in LA.

Slowly I walked up to the street art as I inspected it closer. Looking at the detail and design of the girl and her axe, I could definitely confirm this was the work of Bay Kennish. It had been five years since I had seen or even talked to Bay. Now as I looked at her artwork, I couldn't help but feel pain and longing building in my chest. I will freely admit that Bay was my first love. I loved her with everything I had and was. Clearly time and distance can destroy even the closest relationships.

Hopping back on my motorcycle, I couldn't help but think of the last time I saw Bay. It was nighttime at one of my favorite beaches. I had just finished shooting a short film about my relationship with Bay, or rather a deaf boy's relationship with a hearing girl.

She was trembling. Her face was filled with tears and her eyes with disbelief. My adolescent brain was confident that Bay had cheated on me with Tank. There could be no other solution.

" _What happened to I will always come find you?"_

Those words and her piercing eyes have always haunted me. Bay was raped and I was probably the worse friend, let alone boyfriend on the planet. I didn't give her the benefit of the doubt. I listened to her story, but only with a closed mind. I will never forgive myself for letting her go. I gave up and was forced to move on. For that, I hated myself.

Pulling into the parking lot of my tiny apartment complex, I stashed my motorcycle and unlocked the door. Immediately I was overwhelmed with an amazing smell.

Traipsing into the kitchen, I saw Skye cooking on the stove.

"That smells amazing!" I signed with a smile.

"Yeah? It's my mom's recipe for spaghetti. Tomatoes were on sale this week at the grocery store!"

"Perfect!" I responded.

Skye was an amazing cook and an amazing producer. Together we had completed over ten short films together. We were an amazing team. Everything with her seemed effortless. There were no fights or drama. It was just an easy comfortable life.

After I helped Skye set the table, dinner was served.

"Thirty days Emmett! Can you believe it?" squealed Skye, happiness radiating from her face.

Nodding I smiled.

In thirty days I will be marrying Skye. We had already booked the chapel, invited all of our closest friends and Skye had picked her wedding dress with the help of her mother. Everything was falling into place. I mean, after you date someone for four years, its only natural and expected that you ask her to marry you. I wouldn't have had any doubts about our wedding except the recent sighting of axe girl was troubling my mind.

After Skye turned into bed, I silently escaped out of the front door and into the darkness of the night. Hopping onto my motorcycle, I drove back to the graffiti wall I saw earlier today.

Reaching into my backpack, I grabbed a black spray paint can. Freehand, I drew a giant question mark next to the angry axe-wielding girl. Under the question mark I wrote the year, which happened to be 2020.

There was a strange feeling of exhilaration knowing I had just broken the law by drawing on an abandoned building. For once I felt alive. Instead of being trapped in the rut of my daily life, I was being rebellious. It was amazing to feel the blood course through my veins and feel my heart pump with energy and gusto. I was reminded of the constant adventure it was like being with Bay, when we used to terrorize Mission Hills and East Riverside. Man, I missed the drama and excitement.

Once I completed my work, I stood back and admired my creation. It was a continuation of our timeline. I remember Bay's last words to me were about changing the ending to our timeline. Perhaps our ending was not as final as I had originally thought.

Ugh, Emmett what were you thinking? You are in a happy relationship with Skye! Why risk it for someone you haven't seen in five years? For someone who may not even be the same person you remember? My heart was torn. Did I want comfort or adventure? That was the million-dollar question.

* * *

Could the workday end any sooner? Although my production team was making great progress on my next short film, I couldn't help but wonder if there would be a response waiting for me at the graffiti filled abandoned building. Knowing Bay, I knew she could check her work to make sure no one "bombed" it. Perhaps she had written me a response?

I was probably just lifting my hopes to be crushed. Knowing Bay, she probably had no desire to see me again. I couldn't blame her after the way I treated her. I cheated on her with Simone, her once best friend, now sworn enemy when she was trying to help me sort out my life, splintered by my parent's divorce. Then when she was raped, I was worthless again, blinded by my own anger and hate. Reflecting on the situation, I didn't deserve Bay. She deserved someone who is brave, who laughs at her witty jokes, and is loyal to her, no matter the situation. I'm not that guy. I'm a coward, a flaky, unreliable coward.

Pulling up to the massive wall, I noticed no changes to the exterior. Damn, maybe she didn't come. Maybe she didn't see my attempt to reconcile. Feeling deflated, I slowly turned to leave. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flapping in the wind. Blending in with the chaos of the wall was a multi-colored postcard shaped item. Pulling it from the wall, I realized it was a VIP ticket to an art show that was happening this evening.

* * *

 _Dear Emmett,_

 _I'm presenting tonight at the LA Art Show located at the LA Convention Center. Perhaps I will see you there. Glad to see your badass street art skills are still intact._

 _Bay_

* * *

After reading her note, I couldn't help but feel my heart soar. It was Bay and I was going to see her tonight.

Quickly I decided to run home and change for this formal event.

"Hey Emmett! I made hamburgers for dinner!" greeted Skye.

Breezing right past her, I did not have time for pleasantries or dinner. I was rifling through my dress shirts and suits in my closet when I felt a firm tap on my shoulder.

"Emmett! What's going on? Where are you going?"

Softly I sighed. I knew my response would upset Skye.

"Bay invited me to the LA Art Show. Apparently she's presenting."

"Bay? Bay is here? Since when? Why didn't you tell me she was here Emmett? That girl is crazy! When I met her freshman year while we were producing your first film she yelled at you on the beach and snapped at me!"

"I deserved it. I flaunted her private life and made it into a movie. I broke her trust."

"Artists draw inspiration from everything and you received an A on that project!"

"It doesn't matter Skye, I'm going okay?"

"Well then I'm coming with!"

"You can't Skye! Bay only gave me one ticket."

"Well don't come crying to me when she hurts you again!" growled Skye as she stalked off.

"That went well," I bitterly thought to myself.

Carefully I selected a blue dress shirt and a gray suit and tie. I thought the shirt really brought out my eyes and contrasted nicely with my flaming orange hair.

Whisking past an angry Skye in the kitchen, I jumped onto my motorcycle and accelerated into the evening air.

Parking my bike, I made my way to the LA Convention Center. Around me were gorgeously dressed women in fancy dresses and men wearing well fitted tuxedos and suits. I was glad I decided to change my outfit after work. Walking up the stairs to the convention center I showed the attendant my VIP ticket, which was replaced with a VIP badge.

When I entered, I was greeted by waiters offering me glasses of champagne and fancy horderves. Selecting a flute of champagne, I attempted to blend into the crowd while glancing at beautiful pieces of art. Snagging a program, I flipped to the back where there was an index of all the artists presenting. Once I found Bay's name, I turned to the appropriate page in the program.

Apparently Bay won the prestigious Frida Kahlo award and was going to be making a speech at the Latino/a influenced art gallery. Noticing the time and checking my watch, I quickly headed over.

It looked like I had just made it in time. The crowd that arrived for this presentation was enormous. All of the chairs were taken. I had to settle for standing room in the back.

When Bay walked onto the stage she was stunning. I couldn't help but let a small gasp escape from my lips. She was wearing a modest cut black dress that hugged her curves and contrasted against her smooth alabaster skin. Her lips were full, coated with bright red lipstick and her brown eyes were sparkling, full of energy and life. She looked exactly like I remembered her. It was as if nothing had changed.

It appeared that Bay was winning the Frida Kahlo award for a self-portrait she completed of herself. When they showed her self-portrait, I immediately began to focus on reading her lips. Although the distance was great, the red lipstick really helped me make out some of her words.

"This painting really demonstrates when I was in a dark place. Much like Frida and Diego's relationship, I had one that drew parallels. As Frida would say, 'I am not sick…I am broken…but happy to be alive as long as I can paint…'"

I… I broke her.

Once the presentation was over and people began to funnel from the gallery, I started to walk towards Bay's self-portrait that had gained so much acclaim and recognition.

It was beautiful. Her face showed so much pain, yet within her eyes I could see so much strength. Staring back at me was a woman who had been raped, who was cheated on by her boyfriend, and had survived a tracking anklet, among other things. Even through the anguish she carried in her face, she was still beautiful and she was still my Bay.

Feeling a light tap on my shoulder, I turned and saw Bay herself.

"Well I suppose I should thank you for this award. Without you putting me through hell and back, my self-portrait would not have been this powerful," laughed a quick-witted Bay.

I couldn't help but notice the brightness in her eyes and how fluent and crisp her signing was.

"Thank you for the ticket. I really appreciate it. When I saw your street art, I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that you were in LA."

"Well you were probably the last person I expected to see here. Was that your lousy attempt at finishing our timeline? A question mark? Really?"

Slowly I nodded.

"Emmett, I haven't seen you in five years. You can't have expected me to wait for you this long!"

"Clearly you have waited," I responded gesturing to her self-portrait.

Slowly Bay closed her eyes as she attempted to regain her composure. Her short temper had not changed.

"Emmett you hurt me. You destroyed me from the inside out. I can't go to anywhere without remembering you… Remembering us and what could have been. It's not fair. You don't get to charge into my life with a graffiti question mark! My life already has enough of those!"

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry."

"Plus it's not like you've been waiting for me! You're probably married to that Skye person by now anyway."

"Engaged…"

"Emmett, I'm done. I'm not going to lie that I thought we had something, that my heart was lifted when I saw you here tonight. But then you crushed it like you always do. Have a happy life, I'll try to remember to send a wedding card."

With her clearly angry response, Bay stormed out of the gallery leaving just her forlorn self-portrait and me. The one person who could save me had just left the building.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading! I really appreciate it! Please leave a review and let me know if you think I should continue! Thanks!


	2. Heartache

Story Name: Save Me

Summary: Emmett is riding his motorcycle in LA when he sees Bay's street art.

Chapter 2: Heartache

Bay's POV

I couldn't believe that I had just boarded an airplane to Los Angeles. Although I was excited for the adventure, I couldn't help but reminisce about the last time I boarded an airplane to this destination.

It had been five years since I had last seen Emmett. I knew the chances of running into him during my short stay in California would be slim. Although my brain was thankful for those odds, my heart was not.

" _You ruined us. You ruined every other relationship I'm ever going to have. How am I supposed to fall for someone else when you do things like that?"_

Reflecting on that moment, I had been right. Five years had passed and I still think about him. I wonder what he's been doing and how is films are progressing. I wonder if he thinks about me with the same reverence that I remember him. Although I cherished the time we had together, I still blame him for allowing everything to fall apart. He was weak and probably always will be in my mind.

Thank goodness I still had Daphne. She and I were living in an apartment together in Kansas City. She had just completed her first year of medical school at UMKC, while I was launching my art career, while taking an occasional class there too.

Surprisingly, I had won a prestigious award at the LA Art Show. Although I knew I had some talent painting, I could have never imagined that I would win the Frida Kahlo award for my self-portrait.

This was the self-portrait I had painted after Emmett left me on a sandy beach in LA when he was making his first independent film. In a way this painting helped me cope with the loss of Emmett. The girl in the picture was who I wanted to be. She conveyed a secret strength and will to live, while my heart and being was eternally broken.

Finally the plane landed at LAX. After leaving the plane, I hailed a taxi to bring me to my hotel. It was beautiful watching the city speed by out the window. I loved seeing the tall buildings and streets littered with giant palm trees. The people seemed vibrant in their beach clothes and tank tops. However, as we neared the hotel, I noticed an abandoned building covered in street art. This was my scene.

Pulling up to the hotel, I paid the cab driver before heading to my hotel. Checking in with the front desk, I was placed on the 30th floor. Perfect, I knew the view would be beautiful.

Soon the sky turned to dusk before darkness overcame the city. It was time. Sneaking out of the hotel with a bagful of paint and a poster of my prized painting of axe girl, I began my trek to the abandoned building I saw earlier. Although there was light protruding from nearby buildings, there was enough cover in the shadows to begin my work. With my heart pounding from adrenaline, I began to unpack my supplies.

Quickly, I mixed my adhesive in a small bucket. Then taking my roller, I brushed the adhesive to the building. Although I was covering some other street art, I hoped they would appreciate mine. Plastering axe girl onto the abandoned building, I took a few steps back to admire my work. I don't think I would ever grow old of this street art adventure.

Although I was being recognized for my self-portrait influenced by Frida Kahlo, I knew my heart was here, on the streets.

Returning my supplies to backpack, I began the short walk back to my apartment. I would be back tomorrow to check on my art.

* * *

The sun entering through the crack in my curtains alerted me that morning had arrived. Today would be a busy day doing press and talking with different artists and curators from around the country.

Digging through my suitcase, I opted for a classy, but respectable outfit. It was a modest fitting green tunic with black leggings. I finished the outfit with a chunky necklace.

Exiting my room, I flagged a taxicab, which I directed to the LA Convention Center. Immediately upon arrival I was greeting with the paparazzi taking my photograph. I was quite taken aback. Apparently, I did not understand what a huge award and honor I was receiving. I did not think a small self-portrait elevated my status to that of a celebrity.

Walking through the doors to the convention center, I was immediately greeted.

"Hello Bay Kennish! Thank you for joining us today for press! My name is Grace. I'm going to guide you to your interviews and engagements."

"Thank you," I smiled as I shook her hand.

Grace seemed like an interesting character. Her hair was dyed blue and styled into long luscious waves. An innocent nose ring shimmered in the light and contrasted with her black dress pants and blouse. She looked like an artist and reminded me slightly of my old friend Zarra.

My first interview I thought went well. I was asked predictable questions such as "How has Frida Kahlo influenced your painting style?" and "What does this award mean to you?"

Although I thought the questions were rather monotonous, I felt I was able to answer the questions with ease. I mean Frida Kahlo had been my hero since I was a little girl and first discovered Latino/a art. I received books about her for every holiday and birthday celebration and I insisted that my parents help me plaster my favorite quote of hers on my bedroom wall. Even though Frida has been long dead, I still consider myself one of her greatest fans.

Frida was someone who I deeply admired. She was a fighter who overcame so many different obstacles. After a traffic accident at a young age Frida often isolated herself, and was known for painting her own reality. After Emmett broke up with me, I drew many parallels between our lives. I too, isolated myself attempting to cope with what had happened. I discovered when I isolated myself, I was able to understand myself better and translate that understanding into my self-portrait.

Perhaps I should be thanking Emmett for my success, but I doubted that I would see him. The odds would definitely be slim in a large city like LA.

The press took a ridiculous amount of time. I had arrived at the LA Convention Center at 10AM and I didn't leave until shortly after midnight. Between my interviews I was wined and dined by celebrities, interviewers and curators in the art field. I became a small art celebrity overnight with one award.

When I finally escaped from the LA Convention Center, I took a cab to the abandoned building where I had plastered my axe girl. Hopefully, no one had bombed my fierce artwork. After tipping the cab driver, I began to slowly walk up to the building. However, I quickly noticed a figure wearing a black hoodie who was deep in concentration. Opting to not reveal myself, I hid behind the building trash dumpsters as I waited to see what this figure did with my art.

Instead of spray painting directly onto my piece, they started to create next to it. Soon a large question mark over the numbers 2020 appeared. They were making a timeline.

As the hooded figure turned to leave, I glanced at their face. Quickly I had to stifle a gasp. Although the light was dim, I was able to make out noticeable facial features and reddish orange hair. The hooded figure was Emmett Bledsoe, the person who broke my heart.

After Emmett sped away on his motorcycle I carefully revealed myself from hiding. Walking up to the building I placed my hand on the articulately drawn question mark as my heart began to ache once more.

Instantly my mind wandered towards the last time I saw him on the sandy beaches of LA.

" _I waited for you to come back to me, to talk through what had happened with Tank, and I give you space, and you disconnected without telling me. You moved on. What happened to I will always come find you? What happened to every single thing that you ever said to me?"_

" _No, you get this straight. You do this now… It's done. It's forever… I guess you're going to have to redo the end of our timeline."_

Sighing, I willed myself out of that distant memory. I guess Emmett did redo the timeline. He just finished it in a way I could have never imagined.

Even though I only saw a glimpse of his face, my stomach was in knots. Did I want to see Emmett again? I mean clearly Emmett wanted me to see his street art. Within the deepest recesses of my heart, I knew that I wanted to see Emmett again. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out one of the VIP tickets I had received during my public relations sessions today. Carefully after writing a note on the back, I taped the invitation to the wall. If Emmett truly knows me, he should return to this spot to check for a response.

Returning to my hotel, I quickly jumped into my pajamas and turned out the lights. Since tomorrow was the LA Art Convention, I knew it would be another busy day.

* * *

Well the next day arrived. Rising from bed, I pulled out my planner to check on my engagements.

10:00 AM – Dress fitting

12:00 PM – Lunch with art curators

1:00 PM – Hair, Makeup and Nails

3:00 PM – Press

6:00 PM – LA Art Convention Begins

7:00 PM – Frida Kahlo Award Presentation

Well, the dress fitting went by with ease. I ended up picking a beautiful, simple black dress. I felt that the fabric hugged my body well and accentuated my curves in a flattering way. Luckily, few alterations were needed so the dress would be ready before the event.

Lunch with the curators was nice. They took me out to a fancy steakhouse called the Palm Restaurant. I thought this was fitting since LA was filled with palm trees. I ended up ordering the three-course power lunch, mostly because dessert was included. My first course was a mixed green salad, followed by filet mignon medallions ending with a flourless chocolate cake. The cake was so smooth and rich, practically melting in my mouth.

Hair, makeup and nails were next. Upon arrival I was plopped into a fancy massage chair as multiple attendants scurried around me. One was curling my hair into long, luscious beach waves, another was scrubbing my feet preparing for a manicure, a third was working on my finger nails while a fourth was prepping my face for makeup. I opted for everything to look subtle, clean and natural. I didn't want to look garish, or overdone. When the assistants finally allowed me to look in the mirror, I could help but see a stunning woman smiling back at me. Red lips completed my look and contrasted nicely with my fair skin tone.

After hours of sitting in chairs and trying on dresses I was finally escorted to the LA Convention Center. Upon arrival, I was greeted by Grace, who guided me around to my different interviews and speaking engagements. I was astounded by the number of people in attendance and the number of paparazzi and reporters.

As I floated between different rooms filled with art, I couldn't help but look for Emmett. Hopefully he had found the VIP ticket I left for him at the abandoned building.

The night flew by; soon it was time for the Frida Kahlo award ceremony. Guided by Grace, I stood to the side of a large stage. I noticed how packed the room was, filled people and their prying eyes.

"We would like to welcome Bay Kennish to the stage, winner of the prestigious Frida Kahlo Award!" shouted an announcer after describing my work and my self-portrait.

Climbing the steps onto the stage I could help but look for Emmett again. Sadly my hopes were deflated, as I could not find him from my view. Perhaps the ticket I plastered to the abandoned building flew away.

Thinking about Emmett and my bittersweet memories of him, I began my short speech.

"This painting really demonstrates when I was in a dark place. Much like Frida and Diego's relationship, I had one that drew parallels. As Frida would say, 'I am not sick…I am broken…but happy to be alive as long as I can paint…' In addition, I would like to thank the academy for choosing this piece of art to represent the Frida Kahlo award. As a little girl, Frida and her work inspired me, so receiving this award is a great honor for me. Thank you."

After nodding to the crowd to acknowledge their applause, I walked back to the side of the stage. I was tempted to disappear into the crowd after my presentation, but that's when I saw him, staring at my self-portrait. He was here. He came.

God, he was still handsome, not that I expected him to turn into an ugly broad after graduating from college. But I had forgotten the kindness that radiated from his eyes and the brightness of his reddish orange hair.

Should I talk to him? I guess I should since I invited him to this art gathering.

My heart was pounding as I slowly approached Emmett. Walking up behind him, I light tapped his shoulder. Clearly, I forgot how easy it is to sneak up on a deaf person.

The conversation went from pleasant to hostile. I guess it was my fault for the uncivil sections. I just couldn't believe that Emmett was engaged to Skye. Although I was convinced that Skye was a wonderful person, in all my dreams, I pictured Emmett marrying me.

Unsure and angry about Emmett's engagement, I blurted, "Have a happy life, I'll try to remember to send a wedding card."

Then I ran from the gallery. Finding the nearest bathroom, I locked myself into a stall. The tears quickly came. In a moment of seconds, the world appeared to come crashing down on me. No longer did I care about the stupid Frida Kahlo award. Instead, after seeing Emmett, my first love, my heart yearned and ached for what we once had, when our lives were less complicated and simple.

But I was still attempting to live a fairytale. As Frida taught me, one must only paint their reality.

* * *

Thank you all for the support after the first chapter of this story. I really appreciate it! I thought I would share with you Bay's perspective, since I think her perspective is equally important to Emmett's. Please feel free to write a review, they literally make my day! Thank you!


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